Page 54 of The Succubi's Choice

But it’s just a piece of stiff paper, so she tucks it in the purse next to the gun and smiles politely. “I do have free reign to look things up on my own computer,” she says, as polite as she can manage. “They don’t control my keystrokes.”

“But they are controlling your hunting,” he says, just as politely. “And you should definitely be eating more.” Again, the evaluating glance. “I can take you with me, help you with that, when you’re ready.”

He’s acting like she’s in recovery. Like she’s in such desperate need for his help, and her blood boils for just a second, before a small touch at her elbow brings her attention to her other side.

Not-Thomas is looking at her, his eyes guarded, and she clamps her mouth down instead of responding.

Not-Thomas’s eyes flash up to the other succubi, who leans back conspicuously, before directing his attention elsewhere, as if guilty. As if the Archdemon has the power to do something to him if he so chooses.

“I wasn’t aware you knew anyone here,” Not-Thomas says, his voice pleasant, with only a hint of suspicion lurking behind his words. “I would have given you a warning.”

Again, there’s an undercurrent of something there, but she doesn’t quite think it’s aimed at her, so she looks up at him and doesn’t let herself look elsewhere.

“My work was called on his house this week,” she says, keeping her voice low, and gets rewarded by him leaning closer to her to hear. “I never even caught his name.”

“His name is Grant, and he’s very much on the side of the demigod,” he says, leaning in even more, so close they look like a cuddling couple from the outside and, with a jolt, she realizes that must be his intention.

So she leans in further, settling a hand a few chaste inches up on his knee, and he doesn’t flinch or pull away.

“And what is your name?” She asks, low, her voice purring in the way that can drive men nuts, that gets them to tell her what she wants even without her charm.

His lips part, but no words come out.

“I can’t keep on thinking of you as just ‘not Thomas’ all the time, it’s mentally awkward.” She smiles up at him, and he grins, sudden, back at her.

He settles closer, every line of his body full of confidence. “A name’s not something I’ve had in a long time.”

“Well that’s rather sad,” Miri blurts out. “How does that even work? Do you just pick one sometimes when you...reappear?”

“I get used to people calling me by my host’s name,” he says, his voice muted.

Miri’s suddenly aware that everyone in the little room is watching them. The vampire is the only one watching openly with unblinking eyes, but everyone, in some way, is watching. Out of the corner of their eyes, or by a slight lean a hair too close, or while technically looking at something else, but all watching.

Her skin crawls, but she’s nothing if not performative. “You should pick out one that’s all yours,” she says, well aware that everyone in the room can probably hear her. “Just something for you.”

He stares down at her, and her heart pounds, and suddenly, she’s not sure if he realizes exactly the audience they have. How they have all of their attention, how every motion he makes is catalogued and immediately dissected.

“What do you want?” He whispers, his voice so soft she has to strain to hear. “There must be something, I can’t quite figure it out.”

She takes a beat to think before she responds. “I want to know what’s going on, exactly,” she says, and the room is still hushed. All other conversation has ceased.

“You said that, already, but I don’t think that’s quite it.” He murmurs, then leans back, and the room immediately jumps back into conversation, as if they fear being caught. His lips twitch at that, and he gives her a sidelong look. “You’re a strange person, Miri. I don’t know how many people quite realize that.”

With her stomach sinking, she can’t help but feel that he’s right.

* * *

Later,what feels like hours later, when her head is swimming from constantly sipping her wine and her eyes blur from keeping them open for so long, the group abruptly disbands, all standing and saying their goodbyes without any discernible reason why.

Not-Thomas keeps a gentle hand on her elbow as everyone leaves, keeping her in the way too comfortable room, even though she can see the line of sweat dotting his hairline and something resembling exhaustion lining his eyes.

Miri sinks deep into the couch, thumping her head back against it.

“Well, that was a marathon of conversation,” she says, and without the additional bodies her voice feels very loud in her ears. “And I understood...maybe a third.”

Not-Thomas settles in as well, not quite next to her, but if she extends her arm just a bit she would be able to touch him, play with the edges of his shirt. “Hopefully, things will make sense soon.” He glances over at her, a smile crooking up. “This is arguably the most anti-Organization group I know of, and you were not shunned.”

“I was definitely confusing for them,” she points out, running her fingertips over the crushed velvet of the couch, the motion soothing. She needs to get more furniture like this, something that will be comforting to her when she’s down. Something beyond the blanket burritos.

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